


come full circle

by justrunamok



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Relationships, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 00:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30114462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justrunamok/pseuds/justrunamok
Summary: Time does the both of you good, you especially so.orHoracio sees you after so many years and wonders how so much and so little has changed
Relationships: Horacio Carrillo/Reader, Horacio Carrillo/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	come full circle

You knew you looked good.

Gold lies in the soles of your feet, leaving flickers of you on the marble floor as you saunter through the ballroom – _luxurious bordering on gaudy, they could do better_ – The shimmer glints at every quirk of your lips as you make small talk with the other guests, pride simmering low in your belly as appreciation swims in their eyes. It’s in your gaze as you survey the room, the brush of it languid, until they happen upon a man wreathed in your colour too.

 _Horacio_ knew you looked good.

You always did. The years could never have changed that, time could only dream of marking you in a way that did not accentuate your beauty, the soft lines at the corners of your eyes and lips impossibly becoming. The small yet obnoxiously loud thing in him rails at the sight of you, at every movement, every turn of your wrist. It screams at him – _closer closer, you’ve wasted so much_ – but he knows, the bridging of the canyon must be your choice. He’s done enough.

And so he waits for you to see him, readying himself to shoulder the heavy weight of your aureate gaze after so long. But nothing could actually prepare him for it, the stalling of the world when the slow drag of your eyes burn him through, the sudden loss of breath when you don’t dismiss him with a jerk of your chin. 

You step away from the posse and their conversation, Horacio doesn’t miss how they frown at your departure, they want you just as he does. But it’s him that you have made your target, and he would have dropped to his knees if you asked because as you draw closer, he sees the other gift time has given you.

Self-assurance, draped across your shoulders, clinging to your skin and soul like Klimt and his golden lady. Perhaps him leaving broke both your hearts, but you are stronger for it. 

You are but an arm’s length away, and the beat of his heart is a thump against the flimsy cover of his chest. Those eyes draw him in like they always did, you don’t smile or furrow your brows, your face set in stone. This is your field now.

The breath that drops from your lips is light, burnished dust catching the evening light as you make your play, “Hello, _colonel_. Welcome home.”

Home? 

Yes, he supposes so, you are home. A stiff nod to replace the uncertainty of his words has your lips curling upwards.

“Let’s talk outside.” You throw him an undecipherable look when the bones of his jaw strain against his skin. “These people tire me.”

By the balcony, shrouded from the party-goers by the window’s cream furnishings, everything is quiet save for the muffled hum of the ball and the night breeze. The air is a juxtaposition of the ever-present humidity and brief flashes of chill the wind brings you. 

Horacio’s behind you, the weight of the past you share present as you think of what to say, what to do with this man you know so well.

Because you do know him, well enough that you can mimic the way he’s looking at you even with your back turned, the want so easy to picture. Imitate the nervous knot of the muscles in his back as he waits for you to drop the verdict.

But it is not in your nature to make things easy for him. You know what he expects from you, the glaring red of your rejection or, the coveted green. No, this time, he goes first. In the muted light, his pupils are blown-wide and you take a moment to savour the figure he cuts in his uniform. 

“What do you want from this, Horacio?” Your words are a blatant turn from the route he had steeled himself for, and if you were not as unsure, you would have chuckled at his surprised blink. 

He doesn’t answer, not for the lack of understanding, but for the way the syllables vanish just as they crest his tongue. 

“We’re magnets, you and I, drawn into each other’s orbits after so long.” He’s closer now, breath fanning your face, proving your point because you don’t recall when he moved. “We both know that tonight is ours, but what do you want from this?”

And finally, the words make it past his lips, limited as they are. “You, _mi amor_.”

“Just you.”

The world seems to blur as you wreck it, lunging forward to crash your lips on his, hands firm on his chest as you back him into the wall. The din of the party is clearer now, and you sing with how precarious this is, holding a reunion of your own where anyone could come out and see. 

A puff of air is breathed into your mouth at the impact of meeting the wall, and you drink it up, relishing the pliant mold of Horacio’s lips as he tugs you closer, bringing you flush against him. Something is different, a peculiar tinge to how your mouths meet, no longer the carmine brand of passion prevalent all those years ago.

Maybe its the way you have both grown into different people, folded into roles that are unfamiliar to the other yet still fit together perfectly. You let the soft flesh of your thigh push in between his legs, his shattered groan resplendent on your tongue. You’re mindful in your pillage of him, careful to not smear your lipstick or leave marks on him where they can be seen by others. 

That can wait. 

You reach up to curl your fingers into the soft hair at his nape, tugging just slightly before pulling away, watching as Horacio opens his eyes slowly, and you don’t think anyone could look as beautiful. The barely-there brown of his irises glazed over, lips tender from your attention and a telling flush by his collar.

His hands bunch into the fabric at your waist, and you thank yourself for having the sense to forego silk as you press into him. 

“Such a pretty man, Horacio.” The glide of your finger across his cheekbone leaves you with a flutter of eyelashes and a sweet gasp that has you hungry for more. 

The heat of it all is magnificent, winding your arms around his neck as your positions are changed.

The yellowstone is cool against your back, a balm that attempts at balance, futile once Horacio lifts your thigh to encircle his waist. The slick of your core is obvious once a calloused palm bypasses lace and focuses its pressure on your clit, unrelenting rough circles as you moan into Horacio’s shoulder.

The clench of your thigh tightens at his hips when another hand sweeps the expanse of your cheek, lips finding purchase at the skin behind your ear, mouthing softly at that one spot as you buck into his palm. 

The sound that tumbles out of your mouth when Horacio detaches himself is an indignant thing, your discontent made vocal until you register the way he sinks to his knees. He has the gall to chuckle at your soft _oh_ , eyes so very adoring as he looks up at you.

Your fingers find their much-needed purchase in his hair as he begins his assault, his mouth unforgiving as he keeps you in place with a palm pressed into your abdomen. The heat of his gaze is overwhelming and you avert your own, stretching upwards in a desperate attempt to seek solace from the night sky.

The stars are irritatingly merry as they witness how you jerk when Horacio works a thick finger into you and your strangled moan when you almost come apart at the sensation of his tongue pressed against your clit. You don’t know when your spine arches, only that it happens, a sensuous curve connecting your shoulders and your hips.

You can taste the high as it grips you, completely powerless as Horacio drags you to it. You don’t mean to tug on his hair as hard as you do, a particularly cruel suck of his mouth as your excuse. His answering groan is what does it, the knowledge that he _enjoys_ this hummed into you as the waves crash overhead and pull you under.

You swear, constellations are set aflame, then reborn in the time it takes for you to work through your peak. Horacio is no help, refusing to pull away even when you strain against his hold at the overstimulation. Slowly, your senses come back to you, eyes slotting open to see how he laps at you, ears hearing how the ball continues none the wiser.

“Horacio, _please_ –” you gasp, shuddering as he licks one final line into you before coming up, hands rubbing circles of comfort into your sides.

You suffer the heat of his mouth on your neck before the aftershocks leave you be, determined to repay the favour somewhere considerably softer.


End file.
